Unresolved matters
by My Life is a Mistake
Summary: Donald Trump has the entire galaxy bowing before his glory and power, things he couldn't have attained without help from the dark side of the force. However, someone from his past- who he failed to destroy- turns up at the steps to his new palace. How will Donald react, and will his emotions get it the way of logic? Rating may go up for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Donald Trump stared at his handsome reflection in the mirror and adjusted the straw-colored toupee on his scalp. Once he was satisfied with the manner in which his modest comb-over rested upon his head like a crown, the new Galactic Emperor adorned his body with the most expensive fabrics that could be produced by mortals. Before slipping back into his daily routine, Donald thoughtfully took in the breathtaking landscape that decorated the abyss beyond his palace on the planet of Coruscant. His dominant and powerful blue eyes sternly gazed through the immense glass window in the corridor outside his spacious bedroom.

The strong, orange man wasn't quite as amiable as he is typically reputed to be, primarily because he didn't have the warm and voluptuous figure of his beloved Melania beside him as he woke up. It seemed as if Donald's beautiful wife had been avoiding him ever since the day that he had captured the galaxy as his own playground. He couldn't fathom why the woman would deny him and his glory, and this frustrated him a lot. He tried grabbing her by the pussy, but even that didn't put a halt to her apathy and distant behavior. What was she up to?

One who wields absolute power never leaves the security of his private quarters unarmed, as the threat of an assassination was an ever present dark cloud that hung in the sky of dictatorship. Donald, through his sharpened concentration, used the force to summon his lightsaber from a secret compartment beneath his bed. After slipping his weapon of honor into a pocket below his embroidered belt, he naturally took up his radiant residence in the magnificent throne room, where he was treated like a god by his subjects.

His throne itself was composed of the skeletons of the other candidates whom he had effortlessly crushed underfoot during his presidential campaign. Every day, he would relish in the experience of resting his buttocks on the skull of Marco Rubio and propping the heels of his impeccable shoes upon the femur of Bernie Sanders. That wretched Hillary was the only one to escape this brutal demise and flee to somewhere beyond the unknown regions of the galaxy, but Trump promised he'd rectify this with time.

His right hand had the peculiar habit of coming up to meet the arm rest, which was interestingly crafted from the left arm of Ted Cruz. Donald would occasionally relapse into homoerotic daydreams of Ted and the nights they shared together, but then mentally chastise himself for such impurity. It was simply criminal to have a sexual attachment to a timeless demon who would occasionally operate under the identity of the Zodiac Killer. He also had to brave the current tumultuous state of his marriage to Melania, in spite of his creeping doubts about whether she was truly faithful.

Sighing, the Trump patriarch sat upon his throne of human remains. His marvelous robes pooled at his feet in a puddle of red, white, and blue silk. They were short enough that he wouldn't trip over them mid-stride(although Donald Trump is too flawless to commit the foolish error of loosing his balance), yet just long enough to caress the pristine tiled floor whenever he assumed a seated position.

A young, Mexican slave boy crawled out from under a small trapdoor beneath the massive throne with a clean rag and shoe polish in each calloused little hand. He did his duty, shining his master's shoes until they gleamed brighter than the stars above before quickly retreating to his underground hole; briefly seen and never heard. He knew his entire family would be deported to the perilous and unlivable frontier beyond the galaxy if he so much as moved one finger out of line.

After intensely scrutinizing the state of cleanliness of his footwear, Donald Trump only stiffened his posture and set his delicate lips into an unreadable line.

"Not too awful, Juan. However, my omnipotent sight has detected a single molecule of filth on the toe of my left shoe that you have failed to cleanse. What a pitiful work ethic. All fourteen of your siblings shall be executed at this planet's sundown on this very day, pray that I do not extend your punishment."

Juan, of course, had no choice but to accept any suffering that the emperor bestowed upon his undefined, six-year-old shoulders. He hung his head in shame.

"Sí, Señor Trump. I fail your good empire and my family," he sobbed from within the shadowy and dark corner of his prison cell under the throne.

Exactly twenty-five stormtroopers(one of Donald's many obscure talents is that he is truly a prodigy when it comes to counting very precisely) marched into the throne room single file, silent with the exception of their gentle footfalls. Well-trained by the best of the best, the soldiers knew better than to arouse the anger of their otherwise benevolent and compassionate leader. Donald squinted and pursed his lips, readying himself to face whomever was being escorted into his mighty dwelling without scheduling his or her arrival at least a fortnight in advance. The day was a newborn, only having been birthed from time's loins a mere hour ago. There was not a logical explanation for why the virginity of the emperor's daily routine needed to be molested at the crack of dawn.

"What is the meaning of this disruption?" Emperor Trump finally spoke with a tone that could pierce any man's confidence and heterosexuality like a shard of broken glass. The stormtroopers kneeled with submissive synchronicity before his forceful and intimidating gaze, but gave no verbal answer to his question. Then came the glorious entrance of the dethroned Supreme Leader Snoke, who had quite the bone to pick with his replacement.

The crippled humanoid wore no shoes, so his twisted club foot would drag across the smooth floor with a slightly audible shuffle. Long gone were the days when Snoke still had the wealth to wear his robes of gold during casual occasions, so of course he'd appear before the reigning monarch in a humble, black cloak. Through the bitter and thick silence that permeated the large hall to the throne, one could almost taste the bad blood between the former and current ruler of the galaxy on the tip of their tongue. Usually, any empty space in the open air would find itself kissed by the eloquent speech of Trump, but even the brightest man across all dimensions had to pause for a fraction of a millisecond to conjure up a fiery opening line. Snoke awakened a deep passion within his heart, one that could only be met with a proper greeting.

"Donald," Snoke rasped, being the first to speak.

"Hillary," was Trump's only reply.

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

**It's interesting to see that I've already managed to offend someone with this story. I actually don't care about politics or politicians enough to legitimately hate any of them, I just woke up one day and decided to write a weird fanfic about Donald Trump being a force user. I thought it would be pretty bloody obvious that this is a joke... I also recall seeing a several chapters long story that literally centered on Trump having a relationship with Snoke and they eventually had a kid together, so I don't see how this is any worse.**

"This is a reunion that I've been looking forward to for quite a while," Snoke began, his asymmetrical face twisting into a nostalgic grin. His icy blue eyes drifted towards the crystalline structure of the high ceiling in the imperial palace. "But I'd prefer you never call me by my Earth alias ever again. Let's allow bygones to be bygones, Donald."

Trump, whose perplexed yet furious stare remained fixed as if bolted into place, slowly rose from his throne. As tall and imposing as his broad physique was, he still couldn't match his adversary's inhuman height of seven feet. He clenched and unclenched his fists, mulling over whether it was the ripe time for him to brandish his lightsaber or not. The emperor, for the first moment during his otherwise unchallenged reign, felt like a salmon caught between two sharp rocks in a creek.

"I defeated you," he barked out in disbelief. Trump didn't know exactly how Snoke could have been Hillary all that time, but he had seen enough things in his lifetime not to question the dual nature of his arch nemesis.

"I'd say my current status as a living being speaks out against that," the deformed dark sider retorted with amusement. He straightened his hunched posture to meet Trump's sudden upright movement.

"I'm not sure what you want, but I don't need you here to complicate my life," was the gruff response. Donald swiftly unsheathed the hilt of his pocketed saber and ignited it. The blade that shot forth from the emitter was a pure white, yet also every color on the spectrum at the same time. It illuminated the left side of his face, which was stony with the patriotism and pride for the galaxy that he now ruled. He stood still and unmoving, like a statue sculpted of the strongest minerals.

The stormtroopers that had once stood by their former Supreme Leader now scattered like cockroaches to evade the visceral battle that would likely ensue. Snoke's grin only stretched wider, giving birth to new wrinkles that had never existed before. He, too, reached into the folds of his charcoal robe to produce his own lightsaber. His kyber crystal- and by default, his blade- was the dismal color of vengeance.

"Oh, admit it," Snoke drawled, twirling his weapon around masterfully. "You enjoyed having your life complicated by me. What is a victory if you don't need to overcome any obstacles along the way?" Donald's eyes narrowed and his grip around the metal cylinder tightened so much, he feared he might crush his own crystal. The man did not enjoy being on the receiving end of taunts and ridicule.

He made his orgasmic descent down the steps leading to his throne something that children of future generations would read about in their history textbooks. His blade hummed a threatening tune and singed the carpet that lined the stairs, a slight but surely unsightly damage that he would make the illegals pay for.

"I vowed to myself that I'd destroy you and now I'll be true to my word," Trump declared in his booming, powerful voice. He only stopped closing the distance between himself and the aggressor when he reached the tiled floor. Sunlight had begun to stream in through the stained glass windows, casting an orgy of beautiful colors onto the pair of force users. Beams of red, white, and blue caressed Trump and accentuated the fancy silk vestments he was draped in. An array of yellows, oranges, and purples rained down upon Snoke's figure, granting his translucent pale skin the illusion of discernable life.

"Come and get me, then," Snoke murmured a temptation, one that might have caused any other man to blush. But Donald was impervious to such feeble attempts at emotional manipulation. Those who are strong-willed don't fall victim to force mind tricks so easily, or so many Jedi and Sith used to say. Donald erected a fortified wall of resistance within his mind in preparation for his enemy's infamous mental torture tactics.

The galactic ruler began a slow pace to the left as he stared the crippled beast down with an unblinking glare. He circled his competition stealthily, like a big cat in consideration of its next meal. Snoke only rotated in place, maintaining the penetrative eye contact.

Trump didn't express any verbal sentiments throughout his predatory circling and only ceased it to prevent his polished shoes from wearing a path in the floor. Then, after what seemed like the passing of several eternities, he assumed a fierce fighting stance.

"Your move, Hillary," he teased with a smirk. He knew that using Snoke's alias was the most effective way to provoke him into a brawl. And much like Trump had predicted, his sharp comment cut deep and evoked a war cry from the Supreme Leader. Snoke lashed out, swinging the full length of his lightsaber at Trump's torso. This swing was blocked and addressed by a quick yet lethal jab towards Snoke's good leg, which he barely avoided by darting away to the right.

Trump followed, delivering an overhead slice that utilized the one downside of Snoke's immense height. He quickly brought his blade back down to defend his vulnerable midsection from a slash that might have killed him if his reflexes weren't so enhanced by the force. Every time the plasma swords touched one another, they'd let out a hiss. A hiss of longing for physical contact from each other, a desire that was also present in the owners of the lightsabers but not one that either man would acknowledge.

Donald wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, growling in exasperation. This petty duel wasn't how he had planned to spend his valuable time. His flowing silk fabrics in the colors of the American flag had been caught in the middle of the burning blades and were left in tatters, pouring more fuel over the bonfire of his rage. He would make Snoke regret the day he ever tried to oppose him.

Just as he was a hair away from successfully amputating Snoke's left arm at the elbow, Trump's brutal thoughts were interrupted by the sudden call of his precious wife.

"Donald!" Melania cried out at the sight that met her when she opened the palace doors. There, a mere three meters away from the throne itself, was her Donald engaging his old rival in a fight to the death. Their lightsabers were locked, both men pushing back at each other's opposing force. Donald looked at her, and Snoke turned to look as well. But to their shock, Melania didn't arrive alone.

She stood linked arm in arm with none other than Luke Skywalker himself, who shook his head in pity.

"I now understand why you wanted to have an affair with me in the first place," Luke said.

To be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

Donald Trump stood still, a phantom breeze creeping in through the open palace doors and gently harassing his fluffy, golden comb over. A silent fury raged inside of him and he could barely contain the raw power surging through his bloodstream. Upon the entrance of Melania and the one who she had betrayed him for, the strong, beautiful man lowered his lightsaber. Snoke, too, made a silent truce and backed away to give his enemy some room to take this new information in. Despite affiliating himself with the dark side of the force, Snoke knew when it was appropriate to be a respectable and fair gentleman.

"Oh, my sweet drop of sun-kissed honey!" was Melania's tormented, guilty exclamation to her husband. The husband whose trust she had broken. "I have made a reprehensible and truly godless mistake and understand if you should never forgive my unfaithful character! Do understand that I did this not to hurt you, but to comfort myself!" This did very little to counter Donald's anger, but it was enough for him to deactivate his weapon. The pulsating blade of plasma vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only the metal hilt in the palm of Donald's calloused yet modestly sized hand.

His hardened glare slid from the pained face of his lovely wife to the face of Luke Skywalker, who wore the expression of an old woman watching her favorite soap opera. _He wants to see me suffer and display weakness,_ Trump thought to himself. He would not allow the self-proclaimed Jedi master to get any satisfaction, no more satisfaction than he got from bedding a married woman anyways.

"You just couldn't live without stealing one of my most precious possessions away from me, is that how things went?" the galactic ruler hissed at the Jedi, taking a few small steps towards him. "You seduced my wife into committing such foul adultery right under my nose, because you envy how beloved I am by my subjects? There is a reason why most of the galaxy has chosen to either renounce your name or forget your existence, Skywalker." Melania stifled sobs as Trump drew closer to her but denied her his warm embrace. He stood with a straight back and wide shoulders, looking down upon Luke.

"Your tyranny is feared but not loved," Luke started with a casual flatness in his tone. His eyes crinkled as if he were on the verge of a good, hearty chuckle. "If you didn't have these unexplained powers to fall back on, I can guarantee your 'subjects' would waste no time in overthrowing you and your oppression." He put his arms around Melania's shoulders to comfort her, enticing more hatred from the emotionally wounded Donald.

Tilting his head up high, Donald sneered at Luke dressed in his brown Jedi cloak and commoner's tunic. He resembled a poor beggar who knew nothing of privilege or social class. How could his wife even consider bringing herself down to the level of such mediocrity?

Then his eyes returned to Melania, who was shamefully dabbing at her tear-stained cheeks with a handkerchief. He could sense her genuine regret and fear of permanently losing his affection, which tore him apart. Trump wanted nothing more than to forgive her, he truly did, but then his eye was again caught by the smug, bearded face of Luke. He had not forgotten Snoke's curious and goading presence. Surely you will not make a cuckold of yourself and allow them to get away with this transgression? The Supreme Leader projected this question into Trump's mind to derail his thought process even further.

"Why?" Donald choked out with bewilderment, addressing Melania. He was fully capable of gleaning her thoughts and motivations directly from her head as if it were an open book, but he wanted to hear it from her mouth instead. She couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze, feeling like she had forfeited the right of even perceiving his magnificence. Instead, her watery eyes remained glued to the floor. It didn't look so shiny and waxed anymore.

"You've been so occupied by your imperial duties at every waking moment for the past few months, and I felt cast aside. Like I was your second choice," the woman began in her melodic, foreignly accented voice. "I realize that your responsibilities are more important than I will ever know, but I found myself in a vulnerable emotional state. Oh, Donald. When I first encountered Luke at that brothel as I watched countless splendid orgies, it was not my intent to ever hurt you like this. It happened before I could even stop it, and then I found myself in such a sickening affair."

Donald sharply sniffed, but this was not the precursor to any crying. He is above such pathetic weakness and as a result, had a hard time empathizing with Melania's story of vulnerability. The slight nasal inhalation was nothing more than a nonverbal acknowledgement that he was, in fact, listening.

Luke ran his prosthetic hand through his greying hair self-consciously, disturbed by the way a golden beam of light hit the shiny crown of hair that sat proudly upon Donald's majestic head. Perhaps he should have considered a threesome with Melania and her attractive husband, rather than simply fornicating with Melania alone. The Jedi internally cursed his repressed bisexuality and spared a glance at Snoke, whose beady eyes flitted between the Trump patriarch and his gorgeous wife. His bald, scarred head cocked back and forth in a manner not unlike a pigeon's. Whatever he made of this predicament that he stood witness to, it was hard to tell. Luke sensed the strong curiosity and infatuation that Snoke was exuding, and the wise force user _-quite frankly-_ didn't want to know who the subject of such fervent feelings was, or whether Snoke intended to act upon these feelings.

"I ask not for you to accept my filth with open arms and sweep it under a rug as if I never did betray you, only for you to grant me a sliver of your vast forgiveness," Melania pleaded with her hands clasped together as if she were praying to a deity, which is not far from the truth of what Donald Trump is. A blanket of conflicting emotions smothered the throne room and everyone in it. It transcended its plane into the physical realm, actually making it difficult to breathe. Melania gasped for air, her tearful mascara-streaked face turning pale. She didn't know if she could carry on with her existence if she were to be forever despised by her husband.

"I understand that not everyone in this galaxy can be as impeccable as I, so it stands to reason that I cannot relate to your mortal errors," Donald Trump started after his long and considerate refrain from speech. Slipping his lightsaber back into the pocket of his lavish and vibrantly colored robes, he slowly strolled to the closest window. He took the time to enjoy the panoramic view of the galactic capital, seeking a calm, soothing affect that might further refine his enlightened thought. "I suppose it would be harsh and merciless of me to dole out a severe punishment unto you."

Then, his piercing sapphire eyes acknowledged Luke Skywalker. His restraint was incredibly impressive. "Even you are vulnerable to the trap of promiscuity, despite the prudish Jedi code that binds you to celibacy. I cannot pretend to know your intentions or schemes, as they are far below me." Luke had been expecting a most abrasive outburst from the new galactic overlord, so this acceptance and benevolence was a welcome surprise. In fact, he no longer felt the carnal need to continue a liason with a married woman.

"Wow, Donald," Luke replied with shock woven into his tone. "This is unexpectedly mature of you." Snoke, who stood nonchalantly beside the throne he so enviously longed for, let out a deprecating scoff at the reply. The only matter he would ever agree with Skywalker on was that the single field Trump didn't excel in was mental maturity. Trump, however, was so enveloped in warm bliss and eternal peace that he took no offense from the words at his expense.

"Sometimes, change is necessary to get closer to reaching your final, peak form," he began softly, his orange skin appearing more youthful in the tenderness of the sun's light. Donald turned his back to the warmth of the window. He spread his arms wide with the loving gesture a father offers to his children. His palms were also flat and facing forward, as if he were proving his wish was not to harm anyone. "Let us embrace. All of us." Melania wiped the last of her tears away and stowed away her handkerchief in her pocketbook, releasing a sigh of relief. She ran as fast as she could in her high heeled shoes and fell right against the safe haven of Trump's chest.

His head turned in the direction of Luke, then Snoke, before he beckoned for them to approach as well. It was a funny little thing, how Luke was more hesitant in meeting the embrace than the former Supreme Leader, but a quartet of love came together in a hug nonetheless. Because no matter the trials that Emperor Donald Trump found himself facing, he always overcame them with the devotion he had to making the galaxy great again.

The End.

 **So I, uh, saw The Last Jedi. Oh man. I'm not spoiling the details here (even though most people who are here are probably aware of... everything that happened in that movie), but I will say I am incredibly disappointed by it. I won't judge people who liked it, however, it was a POS. Any future Star Wars stories I write will completely ignore that this movie ever happened.**


End file.
